


What Construct is Love

by MadamMortis



Series: The Three Stages [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Smoking, relationships, weird stuff with wax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 10:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21196493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamMortis/pseuds/MadamMortis
Summary: After an ill advised foray into the wonderful world of DIY waxing, Crowley comes to some conclusions about the nature of his relationship with Aziraphale and the different forms what love takes.Will now be set (following subdivision) between chapters... um twenty-three and twenty-four of The Three Stages (I think!) but can be read as a standalone.





	What Construct is Love

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Don't own Good Omens or any of the characters and after reading this story, you will be very relieved to know why.
> 
> A/N: Had this scene in my head for ages when writing the Three Stages but could not figure out where to fit it in and eventually decided to cut it because there was already way too much stuff and nonsense jammed into that mother loving Behemoth already. But I did always love this scene and found it sort of funny and silly and relatable and so managed to knock it up in the space of one afternoon and decided to post it as another Three Stages offshoot. As the summary says, this is set between chapters twenty-three and twenty-four, sort of following on a few days to a week after chapter twenty-three ends but I don't think you really need to read the Three Stages to read this story. Though I would honestly LOVE it if you did :) 
> 
> If you HAVEN'T read the Three Stages, all you need to know about this oneshot is that Crowley and Aziraphale are romantically involved, though haven't yet had sex. And Aziraphale has guilt tripped Crowley into working at a Nursing home where he has been sort of adopted by the female staff working there.
> 
> That being said, I would like to dedicate this little one-shot to my lovely readers who are ever so sweet and supportive of my work. You guys are just wonderful and I appreciate you ever so much :)
> 
> Warnings in place for mature themes. There is some suggestiveness and ... well, honestly weird stuff that goes on, as well as some swearing and the like but you might be able to get away with reading this at work. … If you read it without your boss being able to look over your shoulder ;)
> 
> Anyhow, hope that you lovely pepes enjoy and I'll catch you on the flip side! xxx ooo

**~X~**

Anthony J. Crowley was in a bit of a sticky situation.

It wasn't uncommon. He had something of a bad habit of landing himself in situations what had a propensity to turn about and bite him square on the keister for his troubles. One of the drawback's of being a demon. Or, more to the point, of being _this_ particular demon.

Like most would-be sticky situation's, it had started out with the seeds of better intentions. Crowley had been attempting to do something kind. ...Well, something _sort_ of kind. _Considerate_ may have been the more appropriate word.

For that was what a good lover ought to be, correct? Considerate._ Considerate_ as to the needs of their partner and all-time truest of loves.

It was as a result of said considerations that Crowley now found himself locked in his ensuite, a waxing strip trapped between his buttocks and wondering just how in Heaven's odious name he had landed himself there.

It had started out innocuously enough, much as it so often did these days, at Crowley's place of employment; the Grange Estate Nursing home. He was on break, chatting with his colleagues Alice and Chloe under the gazebo, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. Chloe had been with the Grange for three years, was in her mid twenties and had rather the active sex life. A sex life which kept her colleagues voraciously entertained.

"You got the whole lot off?" Alice was asking, curling her lip incredulously as she took another drag from her cigarette. Chloe, the only one of the three who didn't smoke, nodded as she sipped from her milk-free coffee.

"Yep. Fucking bit up the middle hurts like _shit_. But hey, the price we pay."

"Seems like an awful lot of effort for a shag." Alice observed, who, being in her mid thirties, was more the content with getting a simple bikini line wax and being done with it. She reached over and smacked the back of her palm to Crowley's shin; for he was perched as usual on the back of the bench, feet resting where his backside ought to have been. "You into all that shit, Cumquat? The manscaping and all?"

Crowley glanced up at the sound of his nickname. He hadn't been paying much attention to the girls discussion. Less than usual, in fact. He was thinking about the previous night, where things had gotten a little bit hot and heavy with Aziraphale. They had managed to make out for eight whole minutes, before the celestial barbs had swaggered in and given Aziraphale's brain a good noogying for his efforts. It was still quite easily the longest they had ever managed to kiss before being interrupted and Crowley had been entertaining himself by going over some of the hotter of the moments in his head. The big goofy grin he was wearing was more the evidence of where his brain was at and Alice felt a little mean for having intruded on what had obviously been some very pleasant thoughts.

"Am I into _what?"_ Crowley asked, taking note of the long cylandrical ash which had formed on the tip of his cigarette and flicking it away before taking a drag from what modest amount remained. He knew Aziraphale did not approve of the smoking and it was most definitely starting to become a habit yet again. But Crowley was sort of enjoying it. He felt like it sharpened the edges of his brain a little and he actually rather liked the social aspect it brought with it. Though Crowley rather preferred the company of Aziraphale most usually to the exception of everyone else, he had grown somewhat fond of his work colleagues and having a smoke with them was a rather sort of bonding experience. He hadn't much of that in his long life. Not with humans, anyway.

"Manscaping. You know. Back, sack and crack." Alice whisked her finger through the air, indicating the line of Crowley's body. When he continued to look confused, she added: _"Waxing,_ my lover."

"Waxing?" Crowley felt his left brow go up. "No. No, I don't wax. Why would I wax?"

Chloe looked a little surprised at this. "Well... because... because you're..." She glanced helplessly towards Alice, who had gotten to know Crowley just well enough in the past couple of months so as to not particularly care about potentially hurting his feelings.

"Because you're a fag." She said, a word by which Crowley could not in fact be offended, as he was_ not_ in fact gay. He was a demon and he was Azira-sexual; exclusively attracted to Aziraphale and Aziraphale only. "Aren't you gays all over that stuff? The primping and the trimming and the waxing and the-"

"Working at the hairdressers, walking poodles, flapping our wrists about and bursting into tears whilst watching figure skating?" Crowley added sarcastically, grinding out his cigarette and disposing of the filter into the coffee tin they all used in place of an ashtray. He hardly felt it necessary to add that these were all things that would not have been out of place so far as Aziraphale was concerned. "You have been viciously keyholed by the stereotypes, young lady."

"Come _on_. You've got to at least tidy up a little bit." Alice took another drag from her cigarette. "Keep things looking good for Alex?"

"Why is it suddenly _my_ responsibility to keep things looking good for Alex?" Crowley asked, referring of course to Aziraphale by way of the human name he'd assigned to him. "Doesn't he share_ some_ of the responsibility?"

"If he was the one gettin' it up the bum, sure. But I'm guessing that's not the case." Alice said, smirking into her coffee as both Chloe and Crowley took to choking on their own. "Can't believe you don't even make an effort. Poor Alex."

"Poor Alex_ nothing._ He should think himself very lucky to have me." Crowley said, giving himself a thump on the chest to help clear out the last of the coffee that had made its way down his windpipe. He was still rather red in the face, but more from prospective embarrassment than anything.

He and Aziraphale had not yet made love; though this wasn't from lack of desire on either part to do so. They were prohibited mainly as a result of Aziraphale's 'celestial failsafe's'; some sort of spiritual mechanism which flared violently into being whenever the angel experienced heightened levels of physical arousal. They had been working at it by attempting to build up a tolerance; for this was acts of love what were indeed incredibly new to Aziraphale and he'd had nothing in the way of previous experience concerning it. Little by little they appeared to be getting there but eight minutes of concentrated kissing and light petting was still worlds away from pelting your pants into the ceiling fan and hitting the sheets.

Aziraphale and Crowley might not have been gay men but they were both in male type bodies and the same rules as such would apply for making love. Crowley himself had no experience with sex, exempting the sex he'd enjoyed with himself over the past six thousand years but that was of course a very different kettle of fish. And though they hadn't discussed the technicalities of the forthcoming lovemaking, Crowley knew from the very form and energy present in their make out sessions, that it was_ he_ who would be on the 'receiving end', so to speak.

Which he did not mind. He rather enjoyed Aziraphale taking charge, in fact. Seeing the once habitually nervous fuss budget gird his loins, surrender to his impulses and take what he wanted was incredibly sexy and Crowley took immense pleasure in being subjected to the angel's whims. He liked the feeling of his strong hands and arms, the strength in his shoulders.

They had spent those glorious eight minutes the previous night tangled up on Aziraphale's settee, all legs and arms and lips alike. Aziraphale had been on top and Crowley even enjoyed the feeling of the angel's weight pressing his own body down into the couch cushions. Could have enjoyed it for very much longer in fact. Had been rather the hoping that Aziraphale would, at some point, sink back onto his knees, reef Crowley's belt out from the loops in his trousers, yank said pants down his skinny legs and then turn the demon's sock covered feet into a pair of black, darned, somewhat bobble laden earrings.

And though Crowley was every bit on board with Aziraphale assuming the more dominant role (at least, so far as physical intimacy went) it wasn't to suggest that he himself did not nurse some natural anxieties. Sex was a new thing and though he understood the mechanics and _very much_ understood the desire, there was the ever lingering concern that he may not in fact be any good at it. A _'dud shag'_ was a term he had heard the work girls using when referencing a gentleman with whom they'd had unsatisfactory intercourse. And what if that was going to be him?

He enjoyed the sex he had with himself, that much was true. But then, he wasn't altogether difficult to please. Sometimes he swapped hands, to make it a little more interesting. There were times when he had in fact thought about Aziraphale whilst giving himself pleasure and those had been the most undeniably intense orgasms which he had ever experienced. This suggested that_ he_ was hardly likely to be disappointed in their physical union. Aziraphale just turning up would have been more than enough to have pleased Crowley.

But what if he Crowley, was, as the girls would say, a _'dud shag?_' What if sex actually hurt more than he had anticipated and he wasn't able to ride it out? What if all the books and television shows had been exaggerating and it wasn't the great shakes it had been made out to be? What if he cried, or burped, or_ farted_?

Or worse, what if Aziraphale, having finally progressed to a point where he was able to get Crowley's kit off without getting stabbed in the brain by a metaphorical lead pencil, tossed the demon's ankles up over one shoulder, took a proper look at his balloon knot and was either turned off, or worse,_ laughed?_

The girls seemed to be suggesting that Crowley lacked consideration so far as his body hair attendance went. It had honestly never been something with which he had been particularly aware of; magic going a long way towards keeping certain things looking fit and spry. But so far as this demon was concerned, body hair was a thing what most human males seemed to possess in some abundance. Exempting those who appeared to wax themselves more often than a surfboard, but Crowley was fairly convinced that this was not the sort of thing that the human he was attempting to emulate would wish to do. No, his human would be the type what would simply own it. Luxuriate in it. Unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt, so as to allow a peek of chest hair to shine ostentatiously through.

Crowley had never given much pause for thought regards the bodies pubic hair. He was thinking about it _now_, though. Or, more specifically, he was thinking about the hair back _there_.

Alice's not so classily established observations had been nonetheless on the money. When Aziraphale and Crowley came together, Aziraphale was going to be seeing a lot more of Crowley then he ever had before. Particularly intimate parts for that matter. Parts of which Crowley himself had never paid a huge amount of attention to, though was suddenly and inixtricably aware of and realizing more by the moment was likely to appear ever the more unattractive without some manner of maintenance.

He didn't want Aziraphale to flip him over on the bed spread and come face to face with something which resembled one of those awful spider nests that you so often see on Youtube. And Aziraphale himself was such a conscientious, fastidious individual, who took great care of his human body; who always ensured that it was tidy, well presented, well groomed. And from what Crowley could recall of his time spent in said body, this applied as well to the angel's own 'intimate region'; which was more tidily pruned than the Lord Mayor's suggestively shaped front garden topiary's.

The angel was most certainly going to be the type who noticed. Who would, whilst effacing kindness on the outside, be judging on the inside. Crowley didn't want their first moments together to be ruined by something so easily remedied as wayward body hair. Not when there was a simple means of fixing it.

Chloe offered to give Crowley the number of the woman she saw but Crowley, being a proud demon, with rigid stipulations concerns self-sufficiency, was not about to have a bar of it. Not to mention that a beautician was no different to service people and if late night pornography had taught him anything, it was that service people all had some agenda in mind. And said agenda usually involved you with no pants, likely propped onto the piece of furniture they were supposed to have been fixing and making an indecent amount of noise interspersed with unnecessary observations about the more often than not obnoxiously oversized 'tool' said service person had at their disposal. No, it was far too risky and Crowley was more the certain that he did not want some random woman to see him in such a compromising position. This was something he could handle himself, much as he did most things in this wicked world.

On his way home from work that evening, Crowley stopped into a supermarket and purchased himself a home waxing kit. Being a demon, Crowley could simply have used magic to have attended to matters but he and Aziraphale were being frugal with their powers these days. There were times when simple spells had not worked and they nursed concerns that their abilities might have been weakening, or indeed, running out. As such, they were being increasingly strict with themselves concerns any would-be 'frivolous' miracles; using magic only as a means of absolute necessity. Crowley could hardly imagine how he would justify 'intimate area waxing' as cause requiring the otherwise 'necessary' expenditure of magic.

Besides, human's obviously did this sort of thing at home all the time. Hence why it was called a 'Home waxing kit'. If humans could do it, well it stood to reason that Crowley would be able to do so too.

When he arrived back at his flat in Mayfair, he was pleasantly surprised to find Aziraphale there waiting for him. The angel had let himself in with the spare key Crowley had given him (way back in the seventies, mind) and had prepared dinner for the both of them; having arranged food he had ordered from one of their favourite restaurants onto a couple of plates and setting the table. He'd gone to the effort of lighting some candles, which Crowley thought terribly romantic and made good and certain to roll his eyes where Aziraphale could see him doing it.

They had a lovely dinner in which Crowley, naturally, drank just a little too much wine. When Aziraphale tried to collect the plates, Crowley put a hand to his wrist to stop him. He brought Aziraphale's fingers to his lips and kissed each of them and then lent his lips to the angels' palm. Soon enough, the plate was in pieces upon the floor and Crowley was perched atop the designer table, legs to either side of Aziraphale's broad waist and they were kissing as though the apocalypse was at their door yet again. They managed nine minutes this time and might in fact have gotten further if Aziraphale had not yielded to temptation and given Crowley's arse a squeeze; an indulgence that his celestial failsafe's did not at all approve of and rewarded him for in the form of stabbing migraine like pain behind the eyes. Crowley was disappointed, flopping backwards onto the table and ending up with his head partway buried in the butter.

It was getting better though. Little by little it was getting better. Better and easier. And it certainly made Crowley appreciate the moments which they shared more for just how valuable they were. Those little shards of pleasure were extraordinary and rich and it didn't matter if it took so many thousand more years to be able to get much further than a bit of spirited necking on the countertop. What difference did it make when you had eternity in your corner?

**~X~**

Crowley loved Aziraphale deeply but he still found him a funny little creature at times. His night time routine was particularly interesting.

Whereas Crowley was more the often content to simply flop into bed and pass into a drunken, dribbling stupor, Aziraphale had a sort of mental checklist what required ticking off before he was prepared to go to sleep. Or to sit up in bed and read until the sun came up, whichever the urge took him, really.

Sometimes he might shower, depending on the days weather. It had been a very strange April that year, with temperatures sometimes reaching the late twenties. That day it had, in fact, reached twenty-six degrees celsius. Aziraphale had gotten a little sweaty as a result of the heat (it was not unusual, his body being larger in frame than Crowley's) and so opted to take a shower that night. Crowley volunteered to assist with the washing but it was precious little besides a tease. Crowley enjoyed near boiling temperatures when he bathed and washed and this was of course far too hot for Aziraphale to tolerate without developing skin blistering and third-degree burns. He took his shower in appreciative solitude, whilst Crowley put on his pyjama's and spent a while snoozing on the cool stone of the bedroom ceiling. He may have enjoyed the heat, but once his body reached a certain core temperature, it became very uncomfortable and he needed to seek out ways to cool off. This was the main reason as to why most of his flat had been fashioned out of stone. Not only was it modern and trendy, but it helped to regulate his body temperature when required.

He was woken from his short nap by Aziraphale reaching up to poke him in the backside with the handle of a broom. (Which he had never used but kept around in case of spiders and pushy service people). He was then steered into the bathroom and fairly much forced to brush and floss his own teeth, which was part of Aziraphale's normal routine but one which he had recently taken to forcing upon Crowley. It was more often than not simply easier to go along with it, rather than kick up a stink and so Crowley brushed and lazily flossed (nearly snapping out one of his canines as a result) before drifting back to bed and pitching over into the sheets like a felled tree.

Aziraphale was yet still some ways away. He would use mouthwash and hand cream and he would trim his toenails and fingernails and clean them where required. Would powder and pluck and goodness knows what else a certifiable dandy such as himself would deem necessary before embarking on such a strenuous activity as sleep. By the time he came to bed, Crowley had already nodded off again and the angel was required to roll him further over onto the left so as to be able to squeeze in himself. Crowley, waking briefly from his comatose state, reached out to rest his hand in the crook of Aziraphale's elbow; the room being far too warm for a full bodied embrace. He did however, always have to be touching. Just a little. A few times these past couple of weeks, he had found it very difficult to sleep alone, now that he was somewhat accustomed to his and Aziraphale's new state of closeness. It felt safe and soft and reassuring to have him close by. Even if just by the slightest touch such as this.

Aziraphale was precious to him. And he took such exceptional care of himself. Even his wings, he was doing a much better job with now. Crowley needed to step up and do his part. Having long legs, a beautiful face and an arse to die for only went so far. He needed to put the work in, just as Aziraphle did. It was a demonstration as to just how much he cared, the respect he preserved not just for himself but for Crowley as well.

Crowley put his plan into effect the next day. He had a now rare day off and so he and Aziraphale took themselves into London proper to enjoy a champagne breakfast; Crowley's traditionally favourite sort of breakfast. Whatever the case, it was always a pleasure to watch Aziraphale eat. Perhaps one of these days, he would clue the angel in to just how much of a pleasure it was to watch him masticate but he rather felt this was not the sort of conversation one had over smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce.

They spent a very lovely morning in one another's company. It was lazy time spent, but it was enjoyable and peaceful, which was something of a novelty as of late. They stopped in at St James's park so that Aziraphle could feed the ducks (grapes and oats, of course) and for the very first time ever, they held hands. Aziraphale had slipped his fingers in between Crowley's whilst they had stood there, by the partition, staring at the ducks and listening to their demanding, entitled quacks. Crowley thought he had played it very cool, by grunting a sort of unconcerned _'Yeah. All right'_ but rather felt too much like a little girl, wanting to swing his arm back and forth and show off for the rest of the unconcerned bystanders of the park. After a while, they had left. They held hands all the way back to the Bentley. One gentleman, in passing, remarked to Crowley in an offhand manner _'Bout bloody time'._ Crowley bloody well agreed.

Aziraphale had closed up his bookshop for the day and was ever the more content to return to Crowley's flat with him for the remainder of the afternoon. He set himself up on the couch in the living area and got to working on the crossword puzzle in the days newspaper. Crowley curled up alongside him and treated himself to a nap for about an hour or so. The demands of the day had hardly been taxing enough so as to justify the need for a nap, but Crowley did not actually ever need to sleep. Sometimes his human body required it so as to operate at maximum efficiency but he slept more as a matter of pleasure than for any want of need.

After waking, he discovered that Aziraphale had, as a natural by-product of being an ancient creature with a clever brain, slain every puzzle contained therein the days newspaper and had moved onto a novel he had stored somewhere in Crowley's flat. With a lion like yawn, the demon stretched his long limbs out and sluiced himself off of the couch with a near liquid like density usually in possession of most domestic cats.

"Just going to go and take a shower." He said, swanning about to the far side of the couch. He leaned down and placed a kiss to Aziraphale's cheek. "Try and not have too much fun without me."

"I will try and pace myself, dear." Aziraphale remarked, glancing up and giving Crowley the smallest, pertinent little smile. Crowley thought he looked very sweet in his diminutive reading glasses; glasses which he had no real reason to wear but did so because he felt it the appropriate thing that the human he was emulating would do at the perceived age that the body appeared to be. That and he thought that he looked rather 'nifty' in them. 

Crowley swaggered off back towards the bedroom and into the ensuite. It was a lazy afternoon and he reasoned that there was no time like the present for embarking on new ventures. Namely, the 'ripping hair out of your bell-end region with hot wax' manner of new ventures.

Crowley did in fact take a hot shower first, because he knew that this was supposed to soften the hair roots or something of the like. After drying, he retrieved the home waxing kit box he had purchased and stood there, naked as the day he was... well... just naked and read back over the instructions. There was a lot of stuff there about shea butter, acai berry scents and guarantees that you would have a smoother, gentler treatment with far less itchy ingrown hairs and other assorted waxing unpleasantness.

"Seems fairly straight forward... Heat the wax up in this little tray in the microwave, use the wee ice-cream stick to apply and when it goes hard just rip it off." Crowley opened the kit and unpacked the components. As sure as the day was long, there was a little microwave safe container, some plastic sealed cubes of wax and some small wooden sticks. He ripped open one of the plastic pouches and placed the cube of solid wax in the container, having a chuckle to himself as he did. "Why humans waste so much money on getting professionals to do this for them I don't know. Societal consumerism at its best."

Crowley slipped on the black velvet dressing gown he had hanging on the back of the door. It was not something he would have purchased for himself but had been a gift from Aziraphale and one he discovered he actually was rather the grateful for. Not only did it feel lovely and luxuriously soft against his skin but it was nice and easy to throw on quickly, where required. Something which was honestly a novelty for him, now that they were being very thrifty concerns their magic. Not like he could just keep on snapping his fingers and have his clothes jump into being.

Crowley cinched the dressing gown tight about his middle with the equally decadent cord, took the microwave safe container and swanned on out into the kitchen area. This part of the flat was open plan, the kitchen looking out over the sitting area, which in turn looked out over a sprawling view of the Mayfield area of London. Aziraphale glanced up, gifting Crowley a small smile of acknowledgement and then quirking his brow curiously as the demon popped something into his never at all utilized microwave and started heating it up. Whilst he waited, Crowley poured a tall glass of wine, ferrying it over to Aziraphale and popping it down into the angel's waiting hand.

"Thank you." He said, taking a sip of the deep rich shiraz before gesturing back towards the kitchen with the base of the glass. "What are you heating up in the microwave?"

"A nice big helping of 'Mind your own business', angel." Crowley said, smiling teasingly as he reached down and placed a series of snuffly, tickly kisses to the side of Aziraphale's neck. The angel shirked away with a soft titter.

"Very well. Have your fun. Just don't come crying to me when you've gone and blown out a wall or something." He reached up, taking a feel of the dressing gowns lapel between his fingers. "Looks ever so lovely on you. Even with those hairy little legs poking out from the bottom."

Crowley felt his heart sink a little. So Aziraphale _did_ take notice of these things. All the more reason to get stuck in and take better care. He practically shot to the microwave like a bullet loose from a gun when the timer pinged and scooted back to the ensuite with the little plastic container clutched between his hands. Come Hell or high water, this demon was _not_ going to front up to his first time an absolute hairy disgrace. When Aziraphale hooked his legs sky-high, that undercarriage was going to be as smooth as monumental alabaster. (Yet another one that old shyster Shakespeare had appropriated from him).

Crowley waited until the wax had cooled a comfortable amount before disrobing. Now came the extra difficult part. How in the blue Heaven was he supposed to get said wax between his buttocks?

He supposed that if you went to a professional, they would take responsibility in relocating each of your buttocks into the appropriate position by which the wax could then be readily applied to the... _interior_ region. This was a little more difficult when it was a one-demon job. _And honestly,_ he thought,_ what a job for a professional to get paid for._ They would pretty much be guaranteed to see what you ate for breakfast. No, this was most certainly a task he was more than happy to be conducting on his lonesome.

That being said, he wasn't altogether certain how to proceed. The instructions were no help; they referred mainly to the bikini, leg and armpit area and simply advised that you did not apply to sensitive area's such as the anus and clitoris. Well, Crowley had no clitoris to concern himself with and he would simply have to be very careful as to how 'invasive' he got with the wax. The idea of course was to tidy as much of this area as possible, so it was going to be a bit of a risk regardless.

He spent a while trying to work it out. Should he squat? Perhaps put one leg up on the sink? Try not to look at his own guilt riddled reflection as he put a popsicle stick where a popsicle stick had no business being? Sex suddenly seemed a great deal less sexy than it had ever been and Crowley took to wondering how any modern day woman or homosexual man fashioned up the pretence of enjoying themselves in the bedroom when there was so much awkward maintenance involved prior to the point of unification.

He eventually decided that he would squat, position one buttock off to the side as much as possible and then apply the wax. He felt the most unstylish he had ever done and it lacked a great deal of dignity. Not to mention that the wax, though not stifflying hot, felt warm and weird in a place he rather felt it not altogether necessary that he experienced warm and weird feelings. Not unless those warm and weird feelings were Aziraphale inclusive but once more that was an entirely separate bunch of banana's.

Crowley was then required to wait about thirty seconds or so for the wax to solidify. The instructions suggested that he keep on testing it, to make certain it had formed into one solid strip. Crowley had been required to release the cheek of his arse in order to pick up the box and check the instructions, which unfortunately resulted in his untimely downfall. Having reaffirmed what it was he was intended to do, Crowley went ahead and checked the wax, to find that, as a result of his inattentiveness, the wax had soldered onto the neighbouring cheek of his arse and had accumulated control of the hairs what resided there. It had also solidified, much as the instructions said that it would and Crowley was left, quintessentially, with his arse cheeks firmly welded together.

"Okay... not quite what I was going for. On the plus side, should probably be able to get it all done in one fell swoop." Crowley picked at the top part of the wax, relieved when it peeled upward and gifted him with something by which to grip. "And now, all I need do is pull downward in one firm motion and viola. One hair free undersnatch."

Crowley attempted to pull downwards. The insulation in the walls was perhaps the only thing what inhibited Aziraphale being able to hear the demon's ear splitting screams from a mere three rooms away.

"Unholy moley! FUCK _ME,_ that _fucking hurts_! _AAAARRRGHHH!!_" Crowley was dancing about the ensuite as though the floor were suddenly consecrated. He'd near about punched a hole through his sink. And he had succeeded only in yanking free less than a quarter centermetre of the wax strip. Which brings us to where this story first set out. One demon, trapped by his own foolish machinations and none the wiser as to how to extract (pun intended) himself from it.

He attempted to remove the sheathe of wax slowly, which only increased the associated level of pain threefold. All the hair what aligned the interior of his buttocks had gone and gotten tangled into the wax from every conceivable angle and he wasn't able to position his arm in such a way so as to properly remove it. Even with his increased levels of flexibility he was unable to bend his spine to a degree where he could pull comfortable downwards and even if he could, the accumulated strands of hair were posing an excruciating level of resistance.

Crowley could have used magic to amend the situation. But then, he reasoned, how would he explain it to Aziraphale if whereby he was required to use magic to remedy some other the more important slash potentially disastrous situation and was unable to do so because he had expended such magic on_ 'removing wax from his arse crack?'_ No. This was something of which humans were capable of resolving without magic and if they could do it, he sure as shit could do it too.

Crowley spent perhaps the next concentrated sum of five minutes attempting to do what humans could 'apparently' do. He attempted to such an extrenuating degree that it was not long before he was reduced to very human like tears and whimpers of frustration; tasting blood from where he had bitten through his bottom lip and toes that were strained from his having been pushed up onto them, ballerina like, with every little tug he had made at the wax strip.

There was nothing else for it. He was going to have to bite the metaphorical wax bullet and ask for help.

He put on the dressing gown and waddled uncomfortably back out into the sitting area. Aziraphale was sipping his wine, reading his book and looking every bit at peace with the world as one blissfully contented angel might be. He had put on some Schubert at some point and was verily languishing away; book almost entirely consumed and wine readily following suit. He looked up as Crowley reappeared, seeming to sense nothing out of the ordinary.

"You've been in there an awfully long time." He observed, apparently however thinking nothing the strange about it. Crowley was, by nature of his being nothing more and nothing less than Crowley, a rather odd duck at times and it was not unheard of for him to dabble in in any number of similarly strange activities. "Everything all right?"

"Aziraphale..." Crowley gave the angel a rather strained and twisted smile. There was sweat about as large as marbles popping out on his forehead. "I love you."

The angel just about melted down into his sensible wingtips. "Oh, my dear. Well, I love you too."

"How much?"

Aziraphale fancied this rather the odd line of questioning but once more was hardly the least surprised by it. "Well..." He said, marking his place in the book before closing it. "A very great deal, of course. A deal what is beyond measure. An... ineffable deal." He added, with a small, self-satisfied smile.

"Good." Crowley said, leaning his elbows down on the kitchen isle. Trying as not to move too much and run the risk of more painful tearing. "I'm going to need for you to remember that. Because we're about to go through something very difficult, you and I."

Aziraphale sat up straight, naturally more than a little alarmed by the tone the conversation had taken. "What is it?" He asked, setting his book aside and climbing to his feet. "Are you quite all right? Are you well?"

Realizing he had thrown far too heavy a cloak of suspense over the sitution, Crowley retracted a little. "It's fine. Somewhat. I've just... I've gone and down something a little stupid." He turned and waddled back towards the hall, gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. "Can you come into the ensuite?"

"Of course." The angel said, still nursing a great deal of concern as he followed Crowely out into the hall and through the bedroom. The demon waited for him by the sink of the opulent ensuite, arms crossed over his chest and staring towards the floor. Aziraphale noticed an assortment of items overflowing from a pink cardboard box which was perched upon the black marble sink; including a small container with what appeared to be wax inside of it. He started to have a sneaking suspicion as to where this may have been going.

"I tried to wax myself." Crowley said, confirming Aziraphale's thoughts. The angel waited, because this was hardly likely to be the end of the story. Sure enough: "Back..." The demon gestured behind himself, jutting a finger towards his rear end. "... here."

"Ah." Aziraphale observed, wending his fingers together. He felt his brows crease inwards to form a soft, non-judgemental but entirely curious frown. "May I ask... why?"

Crowley was so embarrassed that he was unable to look the angel in the eye. Which seemed ever the more appropriate and ironic, given what was due to occur any moment from there on in.

"Just... we may... _you know..._ any day now..." Even to his own ears he did not sound altogether clear as per his reasoning but Aziraphale appeared to be following along all the same. "You take such good care of your body and... well the girls at work were saying I should be more considerate..."

"Considerate?" Aziraphale questioned, feeling more the confused by the moment. "I fail to see how you waxing your bottom is intended to be considerate so far as _I'm_ concerned. From what I recall your bottom did not even have any hair on it. At least... not any that _I_ could observe. Perhaps a light down. Hardly the requiring of waxing, really."

"Not the... not the cheeks, angel." Crowley said, making yet another gesture towards his rump and then running his finger in a vertical line through the air. "Inside. In the..." He lowered his voice, even though there was no reason to do so. He thought his face might very well discorporate from how terminally hard he was blushing. _"... crack."_

"I... see." Aziraphale said. He gave Crowley a long look that the demon did not even raise his eyes so as to appreciate. "And I am assuming that you are having some trouble removing it?"

Crowley nodded sadly towards the floor.

"And you don't wish to waste magic on such a thing, so you need for me to assist you with doing so?"

Another small nod. Crowley giving a light smacking of the lips. "Yeah."

"Very well." The angel made a swivveling motion with his finger. "Turn around then and we will see what we can do."

Crowley hesitated. Naturally, there were a few things of which to be concerned here. Aziraphale may very well have been his friend for over six thousand years, but he was also, in more recent standings, his would be lover. They hadn't yet slept together and there was still a certain piquancy and intrigue about this dimension of one another that hadn't yet been explored. Now Crowley was about to go and shatter all that, by permitting Aziraphale to see a very intimate side of him in a very much unromantic and unsensual way.

"Is... is there a way you can... maybe just reach on in there and... just give it a good old yank?" Crowley asked hopefully. Aziraphale offered in return one of his oft times practiced looks of eternal patience.

"My dear, you have no cause by which to be bashful. This is simply another part of your body."

They were both aware that this was not entirely as straight down the line as Aziraphale was proposing it to be. This may have been just another part of Crowley's body, but it was the part by which they would one day be authentically joined as lovers. Crowley was rather hoping that the first time Aziraphale saw it would be on a tawdry evening, so many wines in and passions cumulating to a sweaty, flagrant state, whereby bedsheets would be twisted between the pinching of fists and there would be no smearing of wax beset between buttocks so as to denigrate what ought to have been a veritably hot and tawdry situation.

Not like this. Not bent over a sink on a humid Saturday afternoon, wishing ever the more by the moment that Adam would reinstate the Apocalypse so that all of this could just be sink-holed with postal service like efficiency.

With that being said and with no alternative option seeking to present itself, Crowley shelved his pride (which he was rather the more accomplished at by this stage, admittedly) and off-faced a reluctant _'fine'_ towards the ceiling.

"Turn around and bend over, so I can take a look." Aziraphale said, rolling up his sleeves for whatever the reason. Crowely did as he was told, rather wishing these words had been applied in a sexier context. Perhaps a context that would have lent itself ostensibly well to Aziraphale then hiking up the bottom of his dressing gown, exposing his bottom. Yes, this too could have been very hot, if the circumstances had been different. But then Aziraphale was peeling aside each cheek of his buttocks to examine the space between and Crowley felt about as far from aroused as he possibly could, wishing instead that he was rather closer to dead than alive.

"My goodness, you've done a rather good job of that." Aziraphale observed, sounding, much to Crowley's great disconcertment, as though he were barely holding off from laughing. "The hair from both sides looks to have gotten all tangled up."

"Yeah. Bit awkward when you're doing this stuff yourself. So I've learned." Crowley sank his cheek against the cool marble, his annoyance worsening as Aziraphale forewent the pretence and started laughing both openly and insensitively. "Would you stop laughing?! This is _not_ funny!"

"My dear, this is _terribly_ funny." Aziraphale corrected brightly. "I do honestly wonder why you felt the need to do this in the first place, however. Surely your young ladies at work are not so persuasive so as to drive you to such extremes?"

"I'm sure you'll find this suitably droll but I was worried that..." Crowley winced a little as Aziraphale reached in and picked at the edge of the wax, finding the edge that Crowley had made earlier. "I was worried that I wouldn't look..._ tidy_ enough for when we... when we first..." He slipped his tongue out across the bite mark he'd made earlier, feeling very self-conscious. No surprises as to why. _"... you know."_

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. And then there came his voice, soft and yet flattered and yet also concerned in the one breath.

"My darling... you did this because you thought I would find cause to _judge_ you?" He paused a moment and then, as humour weaved itself through his words added: "For having hair in your bottom?"

"Well... that and the fact you go to so much effort to take care of yourself." Crowley said. "I thought you might think that I don't... _care_ enough or something. You know."

"Oh, you _are_ a silly." Aziraphale murmured, returning to picking at the wax strip. He seemed to be trying to loosen it from as many of the adjacent hairs as possible. "I do those things because I enjoy doing them. Because I enjoy structure and routine. Surely you realize by now that I find you absolutely exquisite? My goodness, I could sit and stare at you for hours. You don't honestly believe that my passions for you could be in any way inhibited by a few scraggly snifters of body hair?"

"Even after this?" Crowley somewhat joked. He honestly felt a little weak in the knees. Not just from his protracted, uncomfortable lean on the sink but from Aziraphale being as surprisingly charming as he was sometimes prone to being. And it was honest, which made it ever the more disarming. Aziraphale was almost always honest.

"Passion is by no way impeded by fault, dear heart. We both have our flaws. And this is hardly the first time I have witnessed you in an embarrassing situation." Aziraphale chuckled as he worked free a little more of the wax. The movements of his fingers were strange but Crowley rather felt himself more enjoying the attention, now he realized that Aziraphale wasn't the least put off by the situation. "And what is true love if not seeing one another in the context of real life? However awkward and strange and fallible as that may be? It's not a flawless thing. It's picking up dirty socks and holding ones head out of the toilet when one is being sick. Or removing wax from between someone's buttocks, because they attempted a rather ill advised home hair removal job."

All of these examples fairly much referred to stuff that Crowley had done but he decided to let it slide. The point had ever so charmingly been made and the demon once more found himself feeling ironically blessed and thankful and more deeply in love by the moment.

"That's true." He said and smiled over his velvet clad shoulder. "I also like that you said_ true_ love."

Aziraphale gave him a sweet little look. "What else would you call what we have?" He said softly and then, thankfully, because Crowley felt as though his eyes might have started welling up, said: "Okay. I'm going to count down from three and then I'm going to rip this strip downwards. Find something to bite on, if need be."

Crowley fetched up the tie in his dressing gown and fashioned it between his teeth. He jerked his chin in a nod. "Right. Good to go."

Aziraphale took the distended tip of the wax and readied himself. He took a breath so as to steady himself. He had plucked hairs before and that was sometimes very stingy so he could hardly imagine just how painful this would be.

"Ready?" He waited until Crowley gave a nod of consent. Used one hand to keep the demon's buttocks stretched apart so as to clear the way for the wax strip. "Three... two..."

Naturally, he ripped downwards on two. Crowley gave an unearthly shriek what just about rent Aziraphale's eardrums into a thousand, bloodied, quivering pieces. All the worse, because the wax had not come free in one go and Aziraphale was forced to reach in once more and give it yet another, formative yank so as to free it entirely. Which was more the painful than the first time, as Crowley had managed to spread the wax down as far as his perineum and this was rather the more sensitive than anywhere else.

"That wasn't _three,_ you _fucking bastard!!"_ Crowley screamed, spinning about and taking a swing at Aziraphale in a pain fuelled fury. The angel quite naturally blocked him with the arm which wasn't occupied with suspending the hair speckled strip of wax; which resembled rather what a mange riddled water rat would look like if fished out of a backyard pool.

"There was hardly any hair there which you needed to be worried about in the first place." Aziraphale cheerfully exposited, as Crowley collapsed deep into the waiting grip of his forearms, draped over the sink like a wilted sunflower and wept. Whilst he was busy with feeling sorry for himself, Aziraphale took another quick look between the cheeks of his buttocks to ensure that all the wax had been successfully removed before tossing the strip into a small bin underneath the sink. "All gone, my dear. And you'll be pleased to know, that sentiment also applies to your hair! Smooth as a baby's bottom."

"Great." Crowley managed to contribute between sobs. He flinched as he felt something powdery all but explode over his arse cheeks. "Are you seriously putting baby powder on my butt, now?"

"Try and keep you from getting a rash and ingrown hairs." Aziraphale said, dashing the powder over the cheeks of Crowley's arse, giving a quick swipe between the globes of each cheek. Only now did he feel a genuine flush of arousal. There had been a task by which to occupy his attentions before but _this_ now... seeing the soft quiver of the demon's buttocks, the way that he was bent over the sink with the dressing gown hoiked up over his waist... It suddenly stopped being so much about getting a job done and started to be something _more._ Something Aziraphale could rather have enjoyed, if not for his ridiculous, cruel and disabling angelic constraints.

Probably a good thing, really. Poor dear was likely to be bruised given the force required to remove that wax strip. No point adding further to it.

"Now. You pack up this nonsense and concern yourself with it no longer." Aziraphale concluded, clapping his hands to each side of Crowley's bottom. Rather sort of regretted it, given the desirable little jiggle it distributed through each of the cheeks. "Do what needs doing and come sit with me a while. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Make plans for dinner."

"Thank you, angel." Crowley murmured from somewhere within the velvet sleeves chaperoning his inside elbows. Aziraphale smiled softly as he lent a kiss to the back of Crowley's head before turning and sliding the door to the ensuite open.

"You're most welcome my dear. I'll go pour you a nice big glass of wine."

"Love you." Crowley said, meaning it more than he could ever remember meaning it before. For it was quite true that love was not always a flawlessly executed affair. Love was often mistakes and ridiculousness and embarrassment. Love was the means by which you continued to cherish and adore and value and desire one another in spite of all the ludicrous happenstances what real life envisiged upon you.

True love was every bit the _want_ to be perfect, just as much as it was stubble and missed hairs and waxing mishaps. It was, as Aziraphale had said, the picking up of dirty socks. Sitting with one another in quiet contentment over a glass of wine; one on his phone, one reading his book and being totally and completely at ease with that.

Crowley had been very silly. He had gone and forgotten_ who_ and _what_ they were. They were six thousand years of absurdist mishaps, miscommunications, misunderstandings and misalignments. And in moments what might have inspired lesser individuals to turn their backs and hike their noses and sensibilities, Aziraphale and Crowley had instead fallen more the steadily in love for it. For no one in all the realms of creation could ever be more the ridiculous as they were and they revelled for having found it in one another.

It was a lesson most lovingly learned. For all clouds have yet a silver lining.

And what a story it would make for his next smoke break.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for taking time out of your day to read this, my darlings! If you enjoyed, please be so kind as to leave a comment. Or a kudos, or a... I don't know what else there is, actually. Hey, if you enjoyed and you haven't read the Three Stages, you might enjoy that too! Go check it out if you haven't already! 
> 
> Any the ways, wherever you are in the world, have yourself a lovely day and please refrain from DIY home waxing kits. One bruised and red raw snek is more than enough for all of us :/
> 
> All my love,  
~Madammortis~xxx ooo


End file.
